


Lead the Way

by pinstripedJackalope



Series: WINGO [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: A little, Bathing/Washing, Gen, Grooming, Introspection, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Relationship, Shadowhunter Magnus Bane, Warlock Alec Lightwood, Warlock Isabelle Lightwood, Wing Grooming, magnus doesn't do a lot of it haha, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25743013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripedJackalope/pseuds/pinstripedJackalope
Summary: Just how far would Magnus go to avoid cleaning the floor?Aka: Magnus and Alec have a bonding moment while Magnus avoids doing his chores.
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood
Series: WINGO [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789747
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44
Collections: Wingo Summer





	Lead the Way

**Author's Note:**

> Another WINGO fic! I thought there was a square for dirty wings but alas, I do not have one. This is instead the Free Square!

Magnus groaned, yanking at his gear. They were still a good two blocks from the Institute but he just _could not_ deal with how disgusting he was right now. It was mud and car exhaust sludge and the rotting blood of a forsaken or two, _eugh_ … just no, thank you. 

In a similarly disgusting state except with the added addition of human blood—thankfully from a mundane and not from her—Catarina sighed. “Don’t do that here,” she said. “I’m not helping you carry those back to the Institute.”

“You don’t have to, I’ll just leave them here and come back for them later,” Magnus said, and went to drop a piece of gear on the ground as he walked. 

With a growl, Catarina grabbed it, knowing full well that he wouldn’t come back for it. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” she said, shoving the gear back into Magnus’s arms. “That is Institute property, you’re going to get us all in trouble. _Again_.”

“Fine,” Magnus said, rolling his eyes toward the heavens, “have it your way.” 

“ _Thank_ you,” Catarina said. 

The two of them were silent for a block more, annoyance prickling between them and exhaustion hanging on their bones. In another moment they’d met up with Alec and Izzy, who must have just finished dropping off the rogue warlock they were sent off after to the Silent City. The two of them were both desperately in need of showers, too—grimy and disgusting, they were both looking rather worse for wear. 

Magnus settled into step beside Alec, too tired to whine and ninety percent sure that Alec was too tired to listen, anyway. Alec’s black wings were hanging, heavy and unglamoured, at his back—he heaved them up with a grimace, pulling them closer to his back. He had something black smeared on his face.

“That,” Izzy said, wrinkling her nose on his other side, “was awful.” She fluttered her wings—smaller and more ornamental than functional, they were the perfect complement to the long, black peacock feathers that make up her hair. “I need a drink, a shower, and a nap, in that order.”

“Sounds about right,” Catarina said. “How did taking care of the rogue warlock go?”

Alec and Izzy exchanged a look. “…Not according to plan,” Alec said. He seemed disinclined to offer anything else. They walked the last block without another word between them, each of them lost to their own misery. 

They were barely in the Institute’s front doors when Magnus dropped his shed gear with a _splat_ on the tile. He had a feeling that he was going to be the one cleaning it up later, but right now he didn’t particularly care—no, not even as Catarina let out a huge huff of a sigh at him. She knew she couldn’t stop him so she didn’t try. 

Good for her. She was learning when to pick her battles. Magnus nodded, veering toward the residential quarters—

—only to be stopped by a hand on his chest. “Debrief,” Ragnor said, much more peppy about the idea of forcing them to relive the muck and grime a second time than he really should have been.

Magnus groaned. Why, God, _why_?

The four of them trudged into the OPS center, all of them reluctant but none quite as reluctant as Magnus, who made it very well known that he didn’t want to be there. He didn’t _want_ to relive the muck and grime of the mission. He just wanted a _shower_ — _and he didn_ _’t think that was so much of a damn crime_. 

Judging by the looks he got from the others, however, it might as well have been.

Fine. He settled into a chair, throwing his muddy boots up on the chair opposite. He’d be cleaning that, too, he was sure, but again, that was a problem for future Magnus. He idly spun back and forth as they got down to it—going over all the nitty-gritty details _once again_ , like good little Shadowhunters. Ugh.

It took entirely too long to finish the debrief, and by the time it was over the mud had started to dry, leaving Magnus in an itchy cocoon of bleh. He was the first to spring from his seat as Ragnor dismissed them, heading for his room with Alec following slowly behind.

His shower, at least, was nice. Maybe a little long, considering the fact that Alec was waiting for his turn, but Magnus didn’t particularly care. It wasn’t his fault that he had one of the largest private showers in the Institute. Well, it was—he’d made what the others called a ‘huge fuss’ about it, actually—but Alec could literally snap up a bathtub for himself if he wanted to so Magnus didn’t feel bad about making him wait.

Forty minutes later, Magnus finished styling his hair with his usual Seelie potion and exited the bathroom, tired but grinning. He felt a lot better now, thank god. “Your turn,” he said, feeling magnanimous as he gestured Alec in for his own shower.

Alec grunted. He was standing in the middle of the room—had he just been standing there the whole time?—looking like a bedraggled bird, his wings hanging down his back. Without a word he crossed the room and pushed past Magnus, his wing brushing up against Magnus, who grunted at the display. God, would it kill the warlock to show a little gratitude?

Magnus wrinkled his nose. And then double took. He just showered—where on earth did that black streak come from? He made a face, scrubbing at it—it was oily and slick, and didn’t seem to want to come off. Ew, ew, ew. 

He was so focused on the spot on his arm that he didn’t realize there was more on the floor, and all at once his foot went out from under him. It was only his shadowhunter strength that saved him from getting a bloody nose on the dresser. He groaned once more, examining the black streaks on the floor. What the…

“Dude, are your wings _melting_?” he asked the closed bathroom door. Without waiting for a response he pushed it open to peer inside, examining Alec’s wings as Alec gave him a death glare over his bare shoulder. He still had his pants on so Magnus saw no reason for the freak out. 

“Magnus—”

Magnus waved him off, peering at his wings. They looked normal from a distance, the iridescent black feathers beautiful even under the gross yellow of the bathroom light. Until, that was, Magnus took a step closer—then he saw it.

“Is that oil?” he asked, reaching a hand forward. Alec twitched, flicking his wing back, and yup—there it was. A string of oil hit the floor, dripping right from Alec’s wing. No one noticed because they were all too involved in their own misery, none of them looking closely enough to see the predicament Alec was in.

Alec sighed, short and impatient. “Yes. It is. Now get out so I can wash it off, it feels disgusting.”

Magnus raised his hands, backing off slightly. He was perfectly willing to let Alec handle this on his own—until, that was, a thought hit him. 

“You can’t reach all of your wings, though, can you?” he asked, faking disinterest. “Exactly how are you planning to get that stuff off?”

Alec groaned, rolling his head back in annoyance. “I can manage well enough. Go _away_ , already.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Magnus planted himself on the counter, head tilted to the side. An idea was coming to him. A fantastic idea. It went like this: “I’ll make you a deal. I will help you clean your wings… in exchange for a single favor, to be claimed at an undisclosed point sometime in the future.”

“…Of course that’s what you want.” Alec ran a hand down his face, smearing the oil streak on his cheek. He must have been seriously considering this deal, though, because he didn’t kick Magnus out of the bathroom. After a few long seconds, Alec turned, holding out a grimy hand. “Fine,” he said. “We have a deal.”

Magnus grinned, shaking on it. Then he ushered Alec out of his pants and into the bath, getting to work.

He started with his tropical bodywash— _Fiji_ , the scent was called—pouring it over Alec’s wings as Alec grudgingly started to scrub at his front. He then ran his fingers through the feathers, going as gently as he could—he’d never been allowed to touch like this before, and he probably should have asked what to do beforehand so he didn’t make a fool of himself, but alas. It was too late for that now.

He began to regret that as he pulled back with a handful of goopy, waterlogged feathers.

“Are the feathers supposed to come out?” he asked, trying to hide his nerves.

“It’s molting season,” Alec said, indifferent. 

Oh. Well, good. Magnus hummed, reaching forward again. He worked the bodywash into a lather, trying to mix it in with the oil, but it was just kind of… sitting on top, doing nothing. 

Well then. He hummed again, washing the soap off and reaching for a bottle of harsh dish soap, the stuff he used for blood. This should do the trick.

Except it didn’t. He frowned, scraping a little harder at the longer flight feathers. Alec shifted, wing joint flexing, and he stopped—elbow grease wasn’t going to work in this case. He sighed, and reached for the bar soap, the nasty stuff that he used for ichor. It was going to dry out his hands like whoa, but he’d already made the deal—he wasn’t about to back out now.

Except the bar soap, even a thick lather of it, still did nothing. Magnus leaned back, staring down at the oil still slowly dripping down off the ends of Alec’s wings. He was just making a bigger mess of this, honestly. Ugh.

“How’s it going?” Alec asked, startling him from his thoughts. 

Magnus coughed. “Um… fine?” he tried.

“…You can’t get it off, can you,” Alec said, sounding defeated.

“I’m sure I can, just… not with anything I have here,” Magnus said. “And maybe not without a little help. I’m gonna go get Ragnor.”

“Wait, don’t—” Alec started, sloshing around in the tub, but Magnus was already gone, skating out the door in his socks in search of the older shadowhunter.

He found him, shockingly enough, in the library. “Yo,” he said, plopping down beside him. “I need help.”

“I’m not cleaning the entrance hall for you,” Ragnor said, turning a page. 

“No, no—not that. At least, not yet. I just need to know how to get oil off of feathers.”

Ragnor blinked behind his glasses. “Why—”

“Alec.”

“Ah. Well, if dishsoap doesn’t work you might be dealing with something magical, in which case I think we have some potions that might do the trick.”

Magnus drummed his fingers on the table. “And where might I find those?”

“With the other potions we keep, in the—”

“Ragnooor.”

Ragnor sighed. “…I suppose I will get them for you,” he said, annoyed, and stood up. 

Magnus beamed.

Not five minutes later the two of them were back in Magnus’s room, Ragnor muttering about how Magnus couldn’t be trusted on his own with warlock potions. Alec looked to be fuming, huddled up in the bath like a soaked crow. “I’d like to go home at some point today,” he said, and his pout could have curdled milk. 

“Oh, hush, I’m helping you out,” Magnus said. He then shed his socks, rolled up his pants, rolled up his sleeves, and climbed right into the bath behind Alec, to get at the far wing while Ragnor got at the one nearer the door. He accepted the potion that Ragnor poured into his palm, slicking his hand with it before reaching forward and working it into the feathers.

He was about halfway down the wing when he heard his door open in the distance. “Alec, are you ready to go or—” said Izzy’s voice, stopping abruptly as she caught sight of the three of them.

“ _Don_ _’t_ ,” Alec warned.

It was too late. She was already gone, high peals of laughter echoing across the bathroom. Alec groaned, miserable, as she lost her balance and fell out of the doorway, rolling on the floor.

“You—you look like an oil-slicked penguin—getting a bath from—from its handlers!” she gasped, and oh, yeah, now that she’d said it Magnus could TOTALLY see it. He started snickering, ignoring the glare that Alec sent over his shoulder. 

“I hate all of you,” Alec said, and buried his face in his hands.

“You couldn’t hate me if you tried,” Magnus said, giving him an oily pat on the head. He then grimaced, looking at his hands. Eugh. Gross. “Besides, anyone with eyes can see that your wings are much nicer than penguin wings.”

He was angling to get back in Alec’s good graces, and Alec, damn him, must have realized this because he mumbled something to the effect that praising his wings was not going to do Magnus any favors. Magnus rolled his eyes. The warlock was so damn humble about his wings. Magnus had no idea why. They were big and beautiful, majestic even, and he should have been _damn proud_.

…Though admittedly, Izzy’s continued laughter made it hard to see that just now.

“I take it you’re not going to be done any time soon?” Izzy asked a moment later, once she had herself under control.

“…No,” Alec muttered, scrubbing shampoo into his hair with an irritated vigor.

Izzy snorted. “In that case call me when you’re done, I’m going to go hang out at the Du Mort with Meliorn.”

“Bye, have fun!” Magnus sang, waving her off. 

For a moment after that, all was silent. Magnus thought about penguins, Ragnor thought about how much he’d rather be back in the library reading his stuffy books, and Alec thought about… well, something, Magnus was sure. It was hard to tell what was on his mind. Alec was notoriously hard to read. Magnus was getting better at it, but he was still far from perfect when it came to the moody warlock.

He hummed to himself, stroking a hand leisurely down the wing he was working on. Ragnor was nearing the tips of his own wing—he finished a moment later and headed off, as well, shutting the bathroom door with a click and leaving Alec and Magnus alone together with the reminder that Magnus still had the entrance hall to clean. 

Ugh. The entrance hall. Of all the things that Magnus did not like doing, cleaning floors was the worst. He grimaced. 

“Are you done yet?” Alec asked, shifting once again. 

Magnus bit his lip. He was close—just a few of the largest flight feathers and he would be finished. Still, on a list of things ranked from what he most wanted to do right now to what he least wanted to do right now, cleaning the entrance hall was _dead bottom_. As long as he was working on Alec’s wings, he had an alibi for _not doing that_.

It was with this in mind that he made the decision to keep Alec in this damn bathroom for as long as humanly possible. And what the heck, he might even get some answers out of Alec while he did.

“This spot is pretty rough, it’s going to take a bit longer,” he said. Then, feeling sly and a little bit cunning, he casually said, “if I had wings like yours, I would be very proud of them.”

Alec huffed, shifting once again. He was getting restless. Still, he bit the bait that Magnus was dangling before him, saying, “Why be proud of something that you were naturally gifted with? It would be like being proud to have feet.”

A surprised snort made it out of Magnus’s mouth. “ _That_ _’s_ what you think of your wings? That they’re just extra feet?”

“I didn’t build them. I didn’t cultivate them. I didn’t create them. They just are. I’m as proud of my wings as I am about the fact that I have blue eyes.”

“So, in other words… not at all.”

“Yeah, basically. Why be proud of my wings when I could be proud of something I’ve actually worked hard for, like my archery or my potions?”

Magnus shook his head. He had gone over the same part of Alec’s wing about four times now, and he didn’t think he could put off letting Alec out of the bath for any longer before the warlock turned into a prune. He sighed, reaching for the shower head so he could rinse Alec off. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that you have full-fledged wings and Izzy doesn’t, I’m sure.”

Alec, now getting out of the bathtub, went stiff halfway out. Magnus winced. He had never been what you’d call ‘tactful’, but hopefully he hadn’t just pissed off a very powerful warlock in a very small room. There was definitely not enough space to swing a seraph blade in here, if it came down to that.

It didn’t come down to it, but judging by the look on Alec’s face, it came somewhere close. Magnus smiled, willing his charm to sweep his faux pas under the rug. Especially as he intercepted Alec as he raised a hand to snap himself dry and instead sat him on a stool, plugging in his blow-dryer as he did.

The puzzle was buzzing in his head as he began to dry Alec’s wings, fluffing the feathers on his way down. Izzy and her stunted wings, too small to fly with… the fact that both siblings’ wings came from their demonic heritage… Magnus bit his lip. He didn’t know much about their relationship with their father, just that warlock parentage tended to be a subject fraught with trauma and pain. Not that any of the shadowhunters he knew had particularly stellar relationships with their parents, but still. 

Alec and Izzy, he knew from experience, got along great. Izzy and their mother, on the other hand… it was another rather touchy subject. Magnus didn’t know much about that, either—just that Izzy left home when she was sixteen, while Alec stayed with their mother until he was nearly sixty. Izzy, despite being the younger of the two, was more worldly and allowed more of herself out into the world, while Alec was far more reserved, keeping himself closed off to just about everyone.

Magnus considered this. Alec might have been young for an immortal, but it took a long time by shadowhunter standards to form him into the warlock that Magnus knew today. If his life had gone differently, Magnus isn’t sure they’d have clicked as well as they did. Not that they got along perfectly, oh no—far from it. It was just that Alec was the perfect challenge, and for every moment of frustration he caused Magnus he also raised two of curiosity, which was just enough to keep Magnus coming back for more.

Magnus hummed under the sound of the blow-dryer, turning its low heat on the longest of Alec’s flight feathers. He wondered distantly if Alec had a wing oil he used—the feathers were looking a little dry after the wringer Magnus put them through attempting to clean them. He stroked his fingers through the feathers, feeling as the dampness lifted a little more with each pass of the blow-dryer. It must take a lot of effort to keep these things in top shape, like Alec clearly did. He said he didn’t cultivate his wings like he did his archery or his potion-making skills, but at the same time… it wasn’t like he just ignored them? He preened them and trained with them, and he was a strong flier so honestly, what the heck was he on about not being proud of these things?

Alec eyed him in the mirror as Magnus shook his head. “What are you thinking?” Alec asked, over the sound of the blow-dryer.

Magnus huffed, turning the device off. He suspected that Alec wasn’t ready for that truth just yet, and instead reached a hand forward. “Oil,” he said.

Alec continued to eye him for a moment longer before snapping his fingers and summoning an unlabeled glass jar of oil. “Have you ever worked with feathers before?” he asked, holding it hostage.

Resisting the urge to snatch it from his hands, Magnus rolled his eyes. “Ragnor keeps birds in the greenhouse, how hard can it be?”

Alec wrinkled his nose, clearly doubting Magnus’s ability to groom him. Sucked for him, though, because Magnus wasn’t going to back down just yet—you could never underestimate just how far a Bane was willing to go to avoid a task they detested. 

“Just—let me show you first,” Alec sighed, as Magnus planted his feet, and opened the jar.

“Lead the way,” Magnus said, gesturing valiantly.

Alec did, biting his lip as he focused on showing Magnus all the ins and outs of dealing with feathers. How to use the oil and how to straighten the feathers out by hand, how to tell which ones were ready to molt out and you could pull right away and which ones weren’t quite there yet… Magnus lost himself to the motion of it, sighing happily afterward when he got to examine Alec in the mirror. He was looking good, if Magnus did say so himself.

Alec snapped, glamouring his wings with a roll of his eyes. Magnus pouted. Then he leaned against Alec’s shoulder, giving him his best puppy dog eyes. “You don’t have to go yet, do you?” he asked, one step away from pleading. He wasn’t ready to clean the entrance hall— _not yet, not like this_.

Alec twitched, leaning away from Magnus. “Are you trying to get out of your shadowhunter duties?” he asked.

Magnus stared at him, very serious. “Yes, absolutely yes. _Help me out_ , here.”

The side-eye he got could freeze Edom, but after a long moment Alec agreed, and they went to sit on Magnus’s (rather large) bed.

That’s where they were, just sitting and talking about anything that came to Magnus to blurt out, when Tessa came in with an order to _clean the fucking entrance hall already_ , straight from the mouth of the Head of the Institute. 

“She’s going to come yell at you if you don’t do it soon,” Tessa warned, her arms crossed over the book clutched to her chest.

Alas. Magnus always knew this day would come—it was with a heavy heart that he left the safety of his room and entered the harsh, cruel world where there was mud and muck to clean. He bemoaned it the entire way to the supply closet, secretly pleased about the fact that Alec had followed along so that he had someone to bemoan _to_.

“I could help you, you know.” Alec raised an eyebrow. “If you called in your favor.”

Magnus snorted, strapping on a pair of knee-guards he bought with the Clave’s money just for this purpose before kneeling on the stone floor to get to scrubbing. “You think I’m calling in my favor for _this_?” he demanded. “ _No, thank you_. When I call in my favor it’s going to be for something _really_ good.”

“Suit yourself,” Alec said, and settled on one of the nearby benches. He drew his feet up onto the stone, resting his arms on top of his knees and his chin on top of his arms.

Magnus fell silent as he worked, too annoyed and much too tired to really keep up the banter now. It had been a long day, damnit—and now, to top it all off, he had to deal with _this_. Ugh. 

At least it went fast. It took less than half an hour to finish scrubbing, and then he was sitting back on his feet, wiping sweat from his brow. He glanced over to Alec, hoping to bemoan a little more… only to find that Alec had dozed off, his cheek pressed against his forearm.

 _He must be exhausted_ , Magnus thought, blinking. He’d never seen Alec sleep before. Magnus would take every opportunity he could to nap in the OPS center, but Alec took things ‘seriously’ and didn’t ‘screw around’, according to Catarina and Ragnor. 

Magnus sighed, tilting his head to the side as he watched Alec’s slack face. Such a contrary person, such a mystery… and yet when he slept he looked just as innocent as anyone could ever be. He was so relaxed that Magnus could almost mistake this for something truly intimate.

He didn’t, of course, instead choosing to shake himself the moment the thought crossed his mind. Alec was a warlock, Magnus was a shadowhunter—this was an _assignment_. There was no use making friends with him when the Clave would just reassign them both when they realized how well they were getting along. 

Magnus sighed again. Then he stood, groaning at the ache in his muscles, and went to wake Alec to send him home.


End file.
